Forsaken House
by countess z
Summary: Daughter of a former Ordinator, Remaru Indoril is an outcast among outcasts living in the Gray Quarter of Windhelm. Driven by misguided hatred, she vows to seek revenge on the Nerevarine over a perceived betrayal of the Tribunal and the disgraced House Indoril.
1. Viola's Gold Ring

**A/N:** This fic includes my Nerevarine from Accidental Disciples, but this is a stand-alone/complimentary piece and you do not need to have read that one to understand. A working knowledge of Morrowind's history helps, but again I tried to streamline the commentary on House politics as best I could. To those following AcciDi, I will return to that soon, so don't worry!

* * *

" _When Nerevar returned, he saw the frozen comet above his lord's city. He asked whether or not Vivec wanted it removed._

 _'I would have done so myself if I wanted, silly Hortator. I shall keep it there with its last intention intact, so that if the love of the people of this city for me ever disappear, so shall the power that holds back their destruction.'_

 _Nerevar said, 'Love is under your will only.'_

 _Vivec smiled and told the Hortator that he had become a Minister of Truth._

 _The ending of the words is ALMSIVI."_

– **_The 36 Lessons of Vivec, Sermon 33._**

* * *

Of her father's collection, Rem liked the ebony mace most of all. As a child she found herself staring at the sleek black weapon, void-dark with a natural luster that neither ash nor blood could fade. Unblemished, unforgiving, unyielding. The only adornments included the symbol of House Indoril inlaid in gold where the spiked ball met the shaft, and a small engraving in Daedric lettering. Her father told her that the somber weapon represented the duality of House Indoril; brutality and elegance, punishment and mercy. The gilded inscription emphasized the oft-repeated motto of House Indoril:

 _Justice never sleeps._

Rem did not and could not understand the ancient significance of her father's name, not at that age, and not during an era where it no longer held any relevance. What she did know was that the ebony mace was the single most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life.

Her father told her that it was only because she had lived within the cold stone walls of Windhelm her entire life, and nothing in Skyrim could never match the glory of a proper city such as Vivec or Mournhold. His stories of the former glory of House Indoril, glittering temple-cities of light and magic, kept and enforced by Ordinators like her father, their family's sacred duty to the three gods of the Tribunal... to Rem they were strange fables.

"Does Jarl Ulfric know that we are nobles? Perhaps he will allow us to live in his Palace, and you wouldn't have to work with the Argonians on the docks," the child suggested innocently.

Her father made a rasping sound that might have been a laugh. His voice was worn from the ash and a pervasive lung-sickness since the Red Year.

"There are no more nobles in the Gray Quarter, Remaru. None that would be recognized as such. Only bitter Dunmer like myself, old and sick. But you must be stronger than them, for they will always resent you for the fear and reverence my House once commanded. The Nerevarine turned our brothers and sisters against us."

* * *

The four of them lived in a one room apartment in the most run-down section of the Gray Quarter.

Sleeping in the worst part of a slum was perhaps only slightly more pleasant than sleeping in the same bed as Mehrunes Dagon. The other tenants of this crumbling stone tower included a rumored Dark Brotherhood assassin, a mad Ashlander mystic whose indecipherable babbling could be heard throughout the night, and a young couple addicted to skooma. The ceiling of their room was so low that her father could only stoop, and each time she saw him outside the apartment Rem was surprised at how tall he really was.

It was a hard life, but it was all she ever knew, and they managed to get by with the little they had.

Everything changed the year Ulfric Stormcloak murdered the High King of Skyrim. For Remaru Indoril, the civil war itself affected little other than tax raises and the validation of the local Nord population's xenophobia.

At the beginning of Frostfall that year, Rem turned fifteen. Her father died about a week later.

She remembered that cold night. Her father had not returned home from work and so Rem visited the docks outside the city walls. Enduring the stares and silence of the lizard-men none would answer her queries, until one eventually confessed that he saw her father meet his demise during a coughing fit.

Before she could begin to comprehend what this meant for her, Rem directed her outrage at the Argonians.

"But why were no healers called? How could you all stand by and watch? Why did no one attempt to contact his family? Where – where is the body?"

Most of the disinterested Argonians had began to go inside their quarters after their long day of work, where it was warmer. But two stood by to watch; a younger boy – perhaps about Rem's age, but it was difficult to tell – and an older Argonian watching over him, narrowing his eyes at the troubled girl.

"Neetrenaza, see the dark one?" the lizard-boy asked.

"It is the hatchling of the one recently dead. What of it?"

"Perhaps the elders were wrong. It is a scrawny, shouting thing dressed in filthy rags. It cannot be of the same race that enslaved our egg brothers and sisters."

The young Argonian made a hissing sound that Rem could only guess was the closest their species got to laughter.

Blinded by anger, Rem slammed her fist hard on top of the lizard-boy's head. The boy hissed, retaliating by splaying its sharp claws at Rem. She was quicker and smaller than he was, and darted away from his slashes.

The older Argonian, Neetrenaza, stood by and watched. Perhaps he was waiting to intervene if the boy began to lose. Rem could take care of herself in a fight, provided it was with someone about her age and size.

The young Argonian drew her out along the edge of the dock, but Rem dashed behind him and stepped on his tail. She was about to pull him into a headlock when a thick Nord voice and the sound of steel being drawn startled her.

"Stop right there, elf!"

Rem's eyes widened.

When had a Stormcloak patrol ever cared about a fight in the Gray Quarter? Sometimes they even cheered them on and made bets.

But then she remembered. She wasn't in the Gray Quarter anymore. She was in Argonian territory. Even though they weren't allowed in the city proper, the Argonians seemed to be in better favor with the guards. Something about how they assimilated better, or their subservience. Rem had seen it in a racist pamphlet.

"Remove your foot from that poor boy's tail," the guard commanded. He was a big Nord – well, to her, they all were rather big – but she immediately did as he said. The lizard-boy slithered away. The Stormcloak forced her hands behind her back and loosely bound them. She might have been able to cut and run, but she wouldn't risk it. It didn't look like he was going to take her to the dungeons. Pushing the hilt of his sword into her back he led her through the stone streets, past rows and rows of somber gray houses.

"What, you think you're still in Morrowind? You think you can still treat them like your slaves? We want nothing more than for you and your kind to be able to return to your homeland, but until then you'll have to abide by our rules. Got that, elf?"

"Yes, _sera_."

"Good. I'll remember your face. Next time I catch you even thinking about making trouble, you won't get off so easy. Hear me?"

"Yes, _sera_."

Even so, the guard did not seem particularly racist or cruel, and Rem knew that she _was_ getting off easy compared to most. Just before they reached the outskirts of the Gray Quarter, where the streets became narrow, darkened in the shadows of the taller estates, Rem had gathered enough courage to dare to ask him a favor.

"My – my father, uhm, his name is Llerethan Indoril. He disappeared today. The Argonians say he died. But – but I don't know where the body is, and they won't tell me. What if they murdered him? They _hate_ us. D- do you think... if it's not too much trouble... could you try to ask around at the docks, _sera?_ "

The Nord scratched his head, stopping just at the faded banners that marked the entrance to the Gray Quarter. He began to unbind her hands.

"I can't investigate a murder without a body, can I? Seems more like a personal problem between you and your father. Nothing to go beating on poor lizard-boys for, is it? Off you go, then."

The Nord made a shoo-ing gesture with his hand, as if she were some kind of insect.

Of course. Rem did not know why she might have hoped for a different answer, or for him to at least pretend he cared about upholding the law for all citizens. At least he went easy on her.

" _Justice never sleeps_ ," she muttered sardonically, remembering the inscription on her father's mace.

* * *

" _There is no honor in theft,_ " Rem's father once scolded her younger self after he caught her with a wheel of cheese she had pilfered.

But, she wished she could ask her father now, was there any honor in starving?

Rem searched hopelessly for any kind of employment. Work was scarce enough as it was for the Dunmer, even before the war. Rem grew accustomed to the sound of doors slamming in her face, to nimbly dart from a chamberpot being emptied from an open window. Asking Belyn Hlaalu if he needed help on the farm led to him nearly challenging her to an honor duel over a sister-in-law's torture and execution by a temple Ordinator, but Rem backed out of that situation quickly.

She was used to this treatment by now, but it was difficult for her to understand. Rem's father had been an honorable man. He never cheated, lied, or stole. He tried to teach them to do the same. He worked tirelessly in the docks so they all could eat. Why were they treated like pariahs?

She knew it had something to do with the Nerevarine. If he truly were the reincarnation of Nerevar Indoril, how could he betray his own House?

Their world more miserable with each passing day, her hatred festered. Not towards the Argonians. Not towards the Nords, or the Jarl and his ever-increasing taxes. Not even towards her fellow Dunmer who had turned their backs on them.

She directed all of her hate towards the Nerevarine. To her, he was the source of these problems. It was his fault the Indoril were forced to live in squalor despite their noble blood. His fault they could not return to the homeland of their ancestors. Almsivi had been unmade and they could no longer protect their people. It had been a careless thing to do, her father said, for without Vivec using his power to keep Baar Dau aloft, there was nothing stopping it from crashing into Vvardenfell, which in turn caused the eruption of Red Mountain. The Nerevarine seemed to come and go as he pleased, disappearing for decades at a time. In Rem's eyes, he had forsaken the Dunmer.

When the hunger became maddening they thought of selling her father's mace and armor. She had hidden them right after her father's death in case the tax collectors tried to repossess it, but every moment she was aware of its presence underneath the floorboards. With the gold from the mace itself they would be able to eat well for a few months, pay rent, even be able to afford warmer clothes for the winter, but once all the money was gone they would just be destitute again. She did not even want to think about some barbaric Stormcloak Nord wearing her father's sacred Indoril armor, spilling mead on it.

By the middle of Frostfall most of Rem's pride had withered away and the only worse thing than the gnawing emptiness of her own stomach was having to hear her sister's children crying out in hunger. It had been days since they caught a malnourished skeever and roasted it over the fire to eat, and Rem knew scavenging for food during the rest of the winter was only going to get harder. They were too proud to beg. Not that anyone in Windhelm with gold to spare would care for their plight. It was time for Rem to resort to the only way she knew how to get by.

With her small hands and careful observation, Rem happened to have a natural affinity for picking locks. From a young age she quickly discovered that she could eat very well simply by stealing from those who had plenty. She tried not to do it so much as her father would always exercise the strong arm of discipline whenever she was caught, but there was nothing stopping her now, was there?

* * *

" _Better to suffer a wrong than to commit one_ ," her father always used to scold, quoting from his obsolete scriptures. She tried to forget his face in her head as her numb hands gently worked the lock.

It happened to be the house of some rich Imperial widow. Violet, Viola something. Rem could not remember. She could not remember much anymore except that she was starving.

They called this the Stone Quarter. Rem thought the name was redundant. All of Windhelm was made of stone.

Locks were less flexible and harder to pick during the winter, but this woman's lock was not frozen over like most already were. Perhaps she had left a fire on inside. Rem pressed her ear against it until she heard the tumblers clicking into place and let herself in, locking the door behind her.

Rem nearly passed out when she caught a whiff of the pleasant aroma that awaited her.

The woman's supper. A single pheasant breast on a spit.

Her experience in thievery reminded her that if the woman had left the fire going she was obviously going to return within minutes, but her mind was fogged with the twisting hunger. Had she not the thick skin of a Dunmer she might have burned herself when she reached her hands into the fire and grabbed the entire roast. Her fingers slippery with hot grease, her nose filled with all sorts of delights, she devoured the entire thing within one minute of absolute bliss.

Her eyes had begun to water because she had forgotten what it felt like to feel sated, but she also regretted eating it so fast for now it sat like a heavy ingot inside of her. Her movements were much slower, though she also did not run the risk of fainting inside the house she was trespassing in. She had to concentrate, regardless. The woman would return shortly. There was nothing of interest to steal on the lower level, and upstairs proved to be just as sparsely decorated. With a few cursory glances Rem was able to make an assessment of the entire place. A few dusty books on a shelf. An old broom. Nothing. Rem realized she was running out of time. Frantically she started opening drawers. Clothes. Pelts. Sheets. Useful things, very useful things that her family could use, but fairly impractical if one wanted to slip past the guards unseen.

And then she saw it. A shining golden ring, under some bear pelts in the bottom drawer.

As soon as she swiped the ring, she heard the sound of a key entering a lock. Time slowed as Rem began to weigh her options. There were not so many. She could jump out one of the windows and hope not to break her neck, or she could try to slip down the stairs unseen before the woman realized something was wrong...

"By the Nine! My supper, right out of the fire! The nerve... I'll find you, I swear!"

Rem had no more time to think. Clawing at the wooden shutters of the window until she pried it open, Rem climbed out just as she heard thundering footsteps stomping up the stairs.

She managed to break the fall a bit by sliding off the stone walls, but they were lined with ice and she slipped onto the hard ground, already lined with a thin layer of freshly fallen snow. Clambering to her feet she sprinted, cold air filling her lungs as she thrust a hand inside her pocket to make certain the gold ring was still there. Luckily Rem knew the claustrophobic quarters of Windhelm very well. Slipping through the iced roads she made her way down the steps to the Hall of the Dead. No one would look for her in there.

This place always gave her the shivers. Though right now she was mostly just shivering from the cold. She shook the snow out of her hair and rubbed her hands together for whatever small amount of warmth it might give her. At least she was out of the snowfall, though it wasn't all that much warmer in here. Rem cautiously made her way down the halls, taking care to make her footsteps quiet, more out of fear of disturbing the dead than getting caught.

"Ho, who goes there? Desperate enough to rob the dead, are we?"

The shrill voice of an old Nord woman interrupted Rem's thoughts. As she turned, the old woman pointed an accusatory finger at her.

"Worse than a grave robber, a dark elf! I hear how your kind treat the bones of your ancestors back in Morrowind, and it's enough to make me sick. We'll have none of your necromancy here, understand? Go! Get out of here or I'll call the guards!"

The tough Nord had such a look of disgust that Rem sprinted right back outside. The snow pelted against her face as she ran. Rem had never even been to Morrowind. She had no idea what the old lady was talking about. No one here liked the Dunmer, it seemed, and even the Dunmer didn't like her. It was just the way things were, and it was why she had to steal the ring.

Again she navigated the stonework maze of the city, weaving in and out of alleyways until she was certain that she was not being pursued.

Leaning against the wall to catch her breath, Rem even felt the cold of the slick ice through her thin clothing. She had a ragged shirt of cotton that at least covered her arms and a threadbare linen undershirt, but her cloak had been stolen months ago and in a place like Windhelm that was nearly a death sentence. Though she felt she had just ran a lap around the entire city, there was no way that Rem could possibly feel warm. Her body would not stop shivering. She stared at the glowing light of the windows of the nearby Candlehearth Hall, a place she definitely would not be allowed inside, though she longed to be able to sit there just a moment and warm herself by the fire. She heard the strings of a lute and singing, laughter, dishes clattering. It seemed so warm, so happy, so alive.

She heard someone stopping directly behind her. Rem whirled around defensively, fist raised and ready to strike. But she calmed slightly when she saw it was a Dunmer – nay, a half-Dunmer judging by the lighter hue of his ashen skin. To the Nords they were all just gray, but any Dunmer could tell the difference. He had a certain sagacious aspect that made her guess he was quite a few years older than he appeared. He did not look nearly as old as her father had been, and there was still a certain youthful charm in his face, his reddish-violet eyes inviting trust. Still, Rem knew how deceiving such appearances were, and she eyed him suspiciously.

"Eh, what's this? You ought not to be loitering around the Stone Quarter this late. You know the Stormcloaks don't like to see us round these parts at – gods, you look cold. Here."

He removed his heavy cloak and draped it over her trembling shoulders. It was well-tailored, dark velvet lined with some kind of white fur on the inside. Rem gripped it with her hands and wrapped it even tighter around herself to get the most of its warmth. She still kept her eyes narrowed and said nothing, waiting for whatever favor he wanted from her.

"Let me walk you home. I'll let you wear my cloak until we get there."

Rem blinked. It was a simple offer, one which held no explicit obligations. Yet every bone in her body screamed out against it. Maybe he did not look dour enough to be a permanent resident of the Gray Quarter, but perhaps he too sought revenge over some alleged crime House Indoril committed against him as with every other Dunmer. If she had not already stolen the ring, Rem might have just ran off with his cloak, but instead she reluctantly unwrapped herself from it.

"I... I'm not going home yet, _serjo,_ " she mumbled, her lips so numb that it was difficult to manage these few words, let alone fabricate a decent excuse.

When Rem offered the cloak back, he held up a gloved hand. The way he looked at her, Rem immediately knew he could see the reasoning behind her fib.

"Ah, I do understand. No, no, don't worry about the cloak. Keep it for now. Are you certain you will be alright? It is truly no problem if you wish for me to escort you home. It can be dangerous at night."

"I... I'm fine, _serjo._ I haven't seen Rolff swaggering around lately."

Rolff Stone-Fist had been the worst. He went out of his way to terrorize the Dunmer in the Gray Quarter. But no one dared stand up to him because his brother was Ulfric Stormcloak's general.

"No, I don't think he'll be swaggering for a while," the stranger said with a peculiar smile, as if he had something to do with the Nord's disappearance.

"What about the cloak?"

"The Gray Quarter's not so big. I suppose I'll be able to find you if I need it back. Be careful, now."

With a wink, the stranger was off.

Rem stared at his back until he disappeared into the darkness of the Gray Quarter. For the first time she noticed the sheathed sword at his left side. She heard him whistle a cheerful melody to himself, though she did not recognize the tune. Strange to hear anything resembling mirth in the Gray Quarter these days.

She wrapped the white cloak tightly around herself yet again. It was thick, warm. It had to be from the pelt of a snow bear. But someone wouldn't just give up a precious bearskin cloak to some urchin, especially not in the middle of Frostfall. Rem slowly made her way through the narrow street that was more like an alleyway, keeping her eyes down as she always did to avoid any altercations with the dregs that came out at night.

Rem was grateful for a cloak that would allow her to survive the winter, but she did not like the thought that she might be indebted to a stranger now.

At least she had this ring to pawn, but after the rent was paid for along with food and other necessities, there would be hardly anything left, certainly not enough to pay for this cloak that looked like something a nobleman might wear if he came to collect.

 _If_ he came to collect. They always came to collect.

No way anyone would be that kind to her just because she was cold. Charity was a lie.

At age fifteen, Remaru Indoril already knew this very well.


	2. Ebony

**Windhelm, Marketplace.**

" _Hollyfrost Farm has the best produce, but I begin to dread visiting every Fredas. The mangy hounds of theirs have tried to bite me on more than one occasion. I've a mind to tell the captain of the watch to have the dogs put down before they harm a child!"_

" _The only dog I worry about is the gray one Hillevi and Torsten leave in the house to care for their son."_

" _Elda, you mustn't say such wicked things! What if your Brunwulf were to hear?"_

" _All I'm saying is I hope the Cruel-Seas are counting the gold in their strongbox every night."_

The idle gossip in the marketplace was little more than noise to Rem. A good thief was able to think clearly and quickly, to take in every small detail that mattered, and filter out the rest of the chatter.

Among her other assorted wares, Niranye had a glittering magenta gemstone on display inside a small gilded box. Rem did not know what it was, but it looked valuable. More importantly it could easily fit in her pocket.

It would be difficult to bypass the shrewd Altmer broker's watchful eyes. Currently she was listening to Quintus Navale sheepishly trying to explain that he needed moon sugar for some alchemical thing. That part was inconsequential to Rem. All that mattered would be the moment that the gemstone was out of Niranye's peripheral vision.

Before she made any moves to swipe it, the produce stand of Hillevi Cruel-Sea caught her eye. Specifically, one shiny red apple stood out to her, only distinct because its positioning on top of the others made it easy to swipe.

Rem didn't need to steal it. It had only been about a week since she pawned Viola's gold ring to Sadri and she still had a bit of gold stashed away. She didn't need to steal food anymore, and while she supposed the apple would make a nice breakfast, she had grown sharper and wasn't always stealing out of necessity anymore. The instantly gratifying nature of thievery had proven to be a powerful addiction for one who until now had been absolutely destitute, and was reaching the level where every heist needed a strategy. If the guards stopped her in the streets for being a Dunmer outside of the Gray Quarter, it was better that she get a slap on the wrist for stealing an apple rather than let them continue searching her until they found the gemstone.

Rem waited for the right opportunity. For everyone in the market to be distracted.

Hillevi Cruel-Sea had overheard Elda and Viola's scandalous gossip and had just left her stall to march over and give them a piece of her mind. Niranye handed a cloth bag to the blushing Quintus and leaned closer to reassure him that his secret was safe with her. An off-duty guard haggled with Aval Atheron over the price of a leg of goat.

With all of these distractions, Rem walked by Niranye's stand, her dark hand going unnoticed as her fingers closed around the golden box that held the gemstone. Dropping it in her pocket, she strolled to Hillevi's unattended stall and swiped the apple as well. The hustle of the market continued uninterrupted as Rem left just as discretely as she had come. Oengul War-Anvil embossed the details on a steel cuirass while his dutiful apprentice Hermir attentively watched. Flustered Quintus muttered an "Excuse me, miss," as he pushed by her to get back to The White Phial, only to turn around, realizing in his haste that he was walking in the wrong direction. The merry, vapid chatter continued as Rem kept her head down as she began to walk in the direction of the Gray Quarter.

"Up to no good, are we?" crowed a female voice.

Rem looked up to see a pair of mischievous gray eyes staring at her. Silda the Unseen leaned against the stone archway with her arms crossed, a smirk on her face. Rem scowled. The Nord woman was a master thief who commanded most of Windhelm's underground; everyone on the streets knew that. Why she posed as a beggar was beyond Rem, for she was surprised that people even still fell for her pitiful act.

"Been watchin' ye in the market. Not bad at all. You've got potential. You want to work for me, love?"

The veteran thief stepped uncomfortably close to Rem. She felt her face growing hot. Silda stared down at the girl with the same discerning, calculating gaze that Rem used to analyze the situation in the marketplace, though her playful grin seemed almost suggestive. For reasons unknown, Rem's heart began to beat faster.

"I'll think about it," she mumbled, trying to sidestep Silda. But it was no use, for the tall Nord woman blocked Rem's path yet again.

"What a shame. We'd take care of you, we would. Like one big, happy, family of those who lurk in the dark. Let old Silda know if you change your mind, dear."

Silda the Unseen backed off enough to let Rem slide past her. She wondered why the thief referred to herself as an old woman all of the time when she looked to be in her thirties, perhaps even much younger if she washed the dirt off her face. And... now that she thought about it, she was rather attractive for a Nord, after seeing her up close. But when she instinctively dug a hand in her pocket, what small amount of adoration she may have had immediately melted into hot fury.

The gemstone was gone!

Rem gritted her teeth and whirled around.

There was nothing under the stone archway but icicles. Rem looked in all directions. Nowhere to be found. Silda had absconded along with the gem in a matter of seconds.

They didn't call her the Unseen for nothing. Rem knew this must be part of some ploy to get her to seek her out, but she wasn't going to fall for it. Perhaps she was still watching her with that silly grin, snickering to herself as if she were the most clever thing in Windhelm.

She kicked the stone arch in a surge of anger, but that did nothing other than hurt her foot and cause an icicle to fall off.

Rem wanted to strangle her. At least she still had the apple. She sat down on a nearby bench facing Candlehearth Hall and stared again at the warm light from the windows, wondering what she was going to do next. She couldn't just go back to the marketplace. By now Niranye must have caught on that someone robbed her, and everyone would be on alert for the rest of the day...

She was about to take a bite out of the apple when someone interrupted her yet again.

"Remaru?"

Startled, Rem sat upright at the sound of her name. She narrowed her eyes at the one who had just addressed her. It was that half-Dunmer from the other day, the one who had given her the cloak. When did she give him her name? This was some strange business going on, and she didn't like it.

"That is your name, yes?" the Dunmer asked when she did not respond.

"Just Rem."

"May I sit here?" he asked, gesturing towards the empty spot next to her on the bench.

Rem looked down at her lap. She held the apple in both hands.

"I don't know your name, _sera_."

The strange light-skinned Dunmer smiled. "Nels Llendo. Call me Nels."

Rem nodded, shifting her body further to the left side to allow Nels more room to sit. She felt a different sort of energy emanating from him, but she did not know what it was.

"Have you come for your cloak?" Rem asked with some hesitation, shifting her weight and formulating an escape route in her head in case she needed to run. She wasn't going to give up the cloak without a chase.

"Gods, no. I've got myself another, see?"

Rem took note of the new sable cloak he was wearing. She did not know which animal it was from, but it looked nice. Not as nice as the one he gave her. Why _did_ he give that to her? She still hadn't figured it out.

"I've come on behalf of someone else, actually. It appears we have a mutual acquaintance in Revyn Sadri?"

Rem swallowed. The apple rolled off her lap and onto the icy stone as she instantly jumped to her feet, about to escape into a dark alley to the left. But before she could run for it, a hand gripped her bony arm. Rem tensed. Her breathing quickened, puffs of frost in the cold air. She focused her eyes on the red apple that had fallen to the ground.

"Relax. Neither of us have gone to the guards. Nor will we, if you could only listen."

Rem forcefully broke her arm free from Nels' grasp. Not wanting to let the piece of fruit go to waste she immediately bent down and reached for the apple. Straightening her posture, she eyed him suspiciously, unblinking as she wiped the bruised apple on her dress. Nels returned her glare with curious scarlet eyes and an irritatingly calm expression on his ashen face.

What did he want from her?

"Why did you steal it, Rem?" he asked. His voice had no trace of judgment, only gentle curiosity. Gentleness wasn't a common trait among Dunmer. What was his angle?

"The money's all gone," she blurted out. "My – my sister's children, they were starving, we –"

Nels placed a hand on her shoulder and gestured for her to sit.

Rem remained standing. She shrugged his hand away.

"You do not need to justify yourself to me. I have returned the ring to its rightful owner. She'll find it soon and realize to her embarrassment that she simply misplaced it."

Nels chuckled at that.

Rem scowled. She ought to have robbed someone a bit less talkative. Of course that Viola Giordano would gab to everyone about her precious ring that had been stolen.

"The only concern that still remains is that Revyn Sadri purchased a gold ring from you for seventy-five septims. He was being particularly generous with that sum, knowing you had fallen on hard times. Taking such a loss, while not as valuable as his good name, is not going to help his business."

Based on the way he was speaking, Rem wondered if the half of him that wasn't Dunmer was Imperial.

"Come back to me in a week. I'll have the gold, I promise."

Nels smiled, shaking his head.

"Ah, he told me you might say something like that. No, he does not want you to steal your way out of debt. He's an honest man, and doesn't want stolen gold."

Rem's fists clenched with bitterness. Her anger seethed inside of her. She was in debt, and her sadistic debtor was demanding that she work an honest job, when she had already tried for so long to find one. Even the docks, which always were in need of laborers to help with loading and unloading, didn't want anything to do with her after she attacked that Argonian boy the night her father died.

Finally, she decided to speak.

"You don't know who I am? Even the Dunmer despise my family name. I asked everyone in the Gray Quarter for help. Sadri turned me down just as quickly as the others. Indoril Llerethan. That was the name of my father. Everyone seems to know who he was, but I don't care what he did in the past. To me he was the most honest person I've ever known. Even now that he's dead, they would sooner hire a one-armed Argonian."

"Llerethan Indoril. I do know that name. Regardless of your father's crimes, you should not have to shoulder his burden."

Rem detected a difference in Nels' voice. But before she could attempt to place it, he changed the subject.

"Yes, you did approach Sadri with such an inquiry. He remembers. Revyn is a hardworking sort. He's run his store by himself for many years, and he believed he had no need of an assistant. But as it is, he knows he is getting old, and Sadri's Used Wares could benefit from an extra pair of hands. He wants you to work for him, at least until your debt is repaid. Is this an arrangement that would work for you?"

Rem had been twisting the stem of the apple in her lap. It now broke off.

Was this some bizarre, elaborate setup? Were they playing a cruel, horrible joke on her? What would even be the _point_ of that?

It seemed too good to be true, but she nodded slowly. She wasn't sure what kind of conspiracy these two were formulating backstage, but a job was a job.

"Good. He expects you at the store on Fredas morning, just at the crack of dawn. Sadri detests tardiness."

Rem had no more questions. She would be there.

* * *

 **Windhelm, Gray Quarter, Sadri's Used Wares.**

Revyn Sadri was born in Mournhold. So he told Rem on Fredas. He belonged to a minor House that had been loyal to House Indoril for generations. His parents had been modest apothecaries in service of the Temple, and he and his sister scrounged up some gold by selling the extra potions their parents made whenever there was a surplus of reagents. That was how he knew he always wanted a shop of his own.

Rem had been polishing silver cutlery as she listened to Sadri. When she was finished and set out the display on the counter, the shopkeeper frowned.

"No, Rem. Not like that. Polish those again. If I can't see my reflection in the silver, it's not fit for any potential buyers to see."

Rem buffed the pieces with the cloth until her hands cramped. She worked in silence, knowing that if she had been born in the Third Era, Sadri would be working for her instead of the other way around. Still, survival trumped pride, and she felt no shame in this work.

Rem spent the entire day cataloging and organizing the inventory, sweeping, rearranging the back room, and cleaning shop. Not once did Sadri ask for her help behind the counter. Perhaps it was for the better that she was kept out of sight of the customers. Either that or he did not trust her to handle his money. Whatever the reason, she didn't blame him.

After they closed that evening, by the time he finished counting out the gold and scribbling down his profits for the day, it was already dark outside and they were working by candlelight. But when she wrapped the enormous cloak around herself after he told her she was done for the day, he stopped her at the door.

"Hold your hand out."

Rem blinked, obliging.

Sadri placed a five septim piece in her hand.

Rem could only stare up at him. The old Dunmer laughed.

"What's with the lamp-eyes? You thought I was going to keep you like a slave? There's your share. You earned twice as much, but I keep the other half to pay off what you already owe me. That's seventy more drakes to go. You'll be free in... Oh, about two weeks. Not so horrible, is it?"

Rem shook her head slowly. No. There was absolutely nothing horrible about what had happened today. Though she had been working all day and her body was sore from moving around so many boxes of merchandise, she could feel good about what she had done. Of course she could make gold faster by stealing, but it was not what she wanted to do. And while Revyn Sadri was a strict employer with a particular way of doing things, he had been kind to her. He had even shared his lunch with her, though he gruffly claimed it was because he had "accidentally" made too much.

Sadri unlocked the door, but his hand strayed on the latch.

"By the way..." he started, voice becoming stern again. He turned around, giving her a look that made her want to shrink inside of herself. "I took inventory last night, and if I notice anything strange, I'll know who it was."

Rem looked down at her worn boots, biting her lower lip. She had been waiting for him to comment on that. She knew that he had not been pleased at the fact that she had sold stolen merchandise to him. But she was trying to change. Would he only be able to see a thief?

"I don't need to steal anymore," she mumbled. Then, her voice slightly more audible, she looked up at him, making eye contact. "Not when I'm working for you, _sera_."

Rem wasn't certain how to express her gratitude to him, and even now she had struggled with these words. But Sadri's eyes softened. Rem thought she could detect the hint of a smile on his face.

"That's the most words you've said to me all day," he remarked, opening the door and patting her quickly on the back. "Go on, get some rest and come back tomorrow morning. You did well."

* * *

 **Windhelm, Gray Quarter**

Rem had a warm feeling in her chest during the short walk to her block and she did not even feel the chill air.

Though the streets were dark she guided herself by the flicker of the sparsely placed torches. It was nice, she thought, that someone had bothered to light them tonight. Perhaps the city watch was not always so terrible. She felt free and lightweight. Even as she walked past the loiterers who glowered at her with their red eyes, she paid them no mind. She constantly placed her hand in her pocket to feel for the five septim piece. Of course it wasn't much, but it was something, and she had earned it. She had actually earned it.

When she crossed into her block, the familiar scent of the rubbish heap filled her nose. A mountain of garbage and refuse always lay at the end of the street. Every few months someone would come in from the city to burn the heap, but until then the waste of all the Gray Quarter only piled up here right in front of where she lived. She stared at it a moment, realizing she would never have to degrade herself to scavenging for apple cores and moldy bread crusts among the rubbish anymore. Never again would she be that desperate.

But Rem felt a prickling on the back of her neck. The neighbor's dog had been barking viciously, even before she had come into sight. Something was wrong. Rem did not know why she felt it. But something felt very different.

Her footsteps becoming silent, she headed up stone steps, keeping a hand on the wall for support as the stairway was in absolute darkness. Her heart pounded faster as she reached the third level. The door was already unlocked, slightly open. Not good. She pushed it open slowly, quietly, slipping through the small opening so that the hinges wouldn't creak.

The room was almost completely black. They did not have the candles to spare to keep the place lit in the evenings. Rem removed her cloak and hung it over a chair, knowing where it was even in the darkness.

She heard soft sobbing. Was Mehra picking on Aron again? No, it didn't sound like the twins.

 _Varona._

Her older sister was crying. Rem resisted the urge to call out her name, for she could hear the husky breathing of a stranger in the room.

"I thought they weren't ever going to let you out of the mines," hissed Varona, struggling to hide her sobs. Rem knew immediately who she was talking about. Drevor. The father of her sister's children. Rem didn't know the entire story, as Varona did not like to talk about it. She was too young to understand. So Varona said about many things.

Someone was striking a flint against tinder. A pinprick of candlelight illuminated the scene. Rem skulked into a corner that was still dark. Neither of them knew she had entered. Drevor was gaunt but he was still tall, and muscular. His shadow was grotesque and exaggerated, creeping across the wall like a storybook monster. Rem saw his shadowy arm gripping something at his belt.

"No. They weren't going to let me leave the mines."

His voice was dark and rough. He must have been in the Cornerclub first, for his mazte-scent was overpowering.

He pulled a rather pitiful knife from his belt. Iron. Dull. Rem could see the chips in the metal. She saw he was looking down. Looking down at Varona, who was on the floor. There must have already been an altercation, and he had won.

Careful that her boots would not make a sound, Rem crept slowly towards the hearth, guided by the light reflecting off the urn that contained her mother's ashes.

"You took my life away from me. Y-you betrayed me! I thought I loved you. But I know what you are. Nothing more than a strumpet, a... a whore, and I was a fool to believe otherwise. I been thinking about you a lot, when they tried to work me to death in the mines. All I thought about was you. I've been looking forward to this for a long time."

The girl crawled inside of the hearth, holding her breath so that she wouldn't choke on the ash. She couldn't remember the last time they had a fire going, but the soot always remained. She removed several stones to reveal the false wall, which obscured the most precious thing she had hidden.

Her soot-stained hands wrapped around cold ebony. Her father's mace was heavy. Not as heavy as she expected. But heavy nonetheless. She crept up from behind, staring at the back of Drevor's head.

The urge to protect her sister gave her a furious new strength. She definitely did not know how to use the weapon, but Rem put her entire body in the swing as she brought the head of the mace down, not aiming for any part of his body in particular.

He did not see her coming. He may have seen her shadow flickering on the wall, but by the time he did, it was too late.

Rem wondered if Drevor heard the sound of his bones cracking, or if he was already dead by then. He fell to the stone floor quickly, and Rem tightened her unskilled grip, her wrists burning with pain. She was pretty sure she had injured herself already, but she swung the mace yet again. Bones crushed, blood splattered, but Rem's grim facial expression did not change. The spikes dug deep into his gray flesh and it made a squishing sound as Rem pulled it out of him. His body flopped like a broken doll on the stone floor. She took a step backwards but nearly slipped on the blood beneath her boots. It was a mess. She smelled blood in her hair, on her face, on her clothes. The only thing Rem could think about was how such a sleek and elegant weapon could kill with so much brutality. As an afterthought, Rem gingerly placed the mace down on the floor and knelt beside the corpse, searching his pockets with shaking hands. Only ten septims and a lockpick. It was better than nothing. She pocketed these, her wrists still hurting.

"The twins?" Rem asked after a long moment of silence, noting on their absence.

"Down at the docks. Playing."

"Good they didn't see."

Neither she nor Varona said any other words that evening as they cleaned up the mess before the children returned. Rem wanted to ask her sister a lot of questions about her past, but decided instead to respect her privacy. There was nothing that needed to be said. Varona burned the last of their candle as she scrubbed blood out of the floors and walls as best she could. Rem shoved the mangled corpse into a barrel, trying to avoid having to look at the bloody mess of what was left of his face. She brought it down the three flights of stairs and rolled it over to the mound of rubbish at the end of the street. How many others had been hidden this way? When she was young Rem came upon more decomposing bodies than she would have liked to while scavenging. Now another desperate child would have to find her ugly handiwork.

It did not matter. It all would be burned soon anyway. She thought upon it no longer and retreated inside. It was cold, and she wasn't wearing her cloak because she didn't want to get blood on it.

While Varona tossed and turned in her bedroll all through the night, Rem was able to fall asleep rather quickly. She was tired. Her entire body ached. She didn't have the energy to consider her actions. Remaru Indoril had just murdered the father of her niece and nephew with the mace of the late Grand Inquisitor of the Order of Inquisition, High Ordinator Llerethan Indoril. Yet she could not bring herself to feel anything about it. Not even any sort of pride. Should she care? After contemplating it for a short time, Rem decided she would rather just sleep.


End file.
